


"Ray and Sunshine sounds like a disco band, Fraser, so come up with something else"

by omphale23, slidellra (sli)



Series: Ray and Sunshine [1]
Category: due South
Genre: Co-Written, Kid Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-15
Updated: 2010-03-15
Packaged: 2017-10-08 00:21:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/70775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omphale23/pseuds/omphale23, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sli/pseuds/slidellra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So Ben stops at the edge of the kitchen and indulges himself. There's something soothing about Ray when he sleeps, the way the hard edges of his smile soften and relax into an expression that looks very much like innocence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"Ray and Sunshine sounds like a disco band, Fraser, so come up with something else"

**Author's Note:**

> If it weren't for that scene on the stairs, we would never have committed kidfic. Or comment fic. If Ray and Fraser weren't so hot, we wouldn't have just kept writing in order to make them have sex. In conclusion, none of this is our fault.

Ben arrives home early and throws Dief a warning glance as he hangs up his coat. After all, Ray hasn't been getting enough rest ("Fraser, if somebody has to be the girl here, and I'm not saying somebody does because we're not those kind of guys, but if so, then it should be me. You're working, out there tracking caribou poachers across the tundra using only your sense of smell and a piece of string. I'll get up when the kid cries and you just try to sleep through it. You can chop some extra wood to make it up to me. Or something a little more creative.") and he's not really _that_ hungry.

So Ben stops at the edge of the kitchen and indulges himself. There's something soothing about Ray when he sleeps, the way the hard edges of his smile soften and relax into an expression that looks very much like innocence. Even so, no one would ever mistake him for a child--the protective curl of his arm, the way that their daughter ("I don't need kids, Fraser, I just need you. But if you want family, we'd better be getting to it, because I do not want to be that guy who shows up to his kid's graduation with a walker and one of those rolling oxygen things. So make up your mind.") trusts him to keep her safe.

Not for the first time, Ben traces the strange resemblance between the two, her blonde curling hair and the restless energy he knows they share. Only when she is awake can he see any traces of himself ("I don't know how it happened, but she's got your eyes, Ben. And if she asks me one more question about quantum physics, I'm going to make you both sleep in the barn.") and that pleases him. It makes him happy to know that he has the right to watch them sleep, the ability to take this memory and hold it close.

Their daughter wakes first, brightening when she sees Ben. He puts a finger to his lips and she nods solemnly, slipping off Ray's chest with exaggerated stealth. Ray stirs anyway, checking that she's okay. Stroking Ray's forehead, Ben tells him to go back to sleep, that he'll keep an eye on things for a little while. Blinking blearily, Ray tries to ask about his day, but, instead, turns his head so Ben's caressing his cheek, and trails off back into sleep before he can finish the sentence.

Ben kneels down and carefully works Ray's glasses off, making a mental note to remind Ray about his overdue new prescription. He sets them on the side table, takes his daughter's hand, and goes to see about dinner.

***

Ray wakes slowly, the cool air assuring him that he wasn't dreaming Fraser's quiet arrival. He feels a little guilty for dozing off, and the rumble of his stomach is a reminder that he hadn't even started dinner. Again. He'd make a lousy housewife, but Fraser doesn't seem to mind.

It's possible that his other talents ("Oh, god, Ray, don't stop. Please don't stop.") make up for his refusal to learn about crockpot settings.

Still, even if this whole domestic partner deal works out to him staying home with the brat while Fraser does his thing out in the snowy wilderness, Ray can't complain. He picks up the odd repair job around town, and he's on the local search and rescue team ("I'm aware of the claim that natural selection raises the intelligence of the population in general, Ray, but that doesn't mean that we can simply leave tourists to 'build their own igloo' at times like these. I'll meet you outside.") so it isn't like he's trapped out in the woods somewhere like the guy in that movie, the one with Kathy Bates and the ax.

That thought is enough to wake Ray up for real and send him stumbling in search of his family. Who are, if the sounds of mingled giggles are any clue, getting into trouble. As he catches sight of what used to be their tidy kitchen, he wonders again about the wisdom of leaving a four-year-old alone with a guy who missed out on most of his childhood. If Fraser had any experience with food fights he'd have seen this coming.

"I just cleaned in here, you know," Ray grumbles.

"I appreciate that, but we were trying to make biscuits, and it's possible that things may have gotten..."

"Out of hand?"

"No, no, nothing like that. I have everything under control."

"You know, I'd believe you if you didn't have egg in your hair. There's no egg in your biscuit recipe, Fraser."

"Well, not as such, but in this variation--"

"Save it. Just give me the spoon, and you get to work trying to get the ketchup out of the salt shaker."

Ray pokes at the biscuit dough and decides not to toss it, despite the variations (that pinkish color had better come from nothing more disgusting than ketchup) Fraser and the spawn introduced. It wasn't like they hadn't all eaten stranger things.

"Come on, kidlet. Let's get you de-fooded."

She mostly tolerates his swabbing at her mucky hands and face, and then happily settles down on the couch with the book on NASA Stella and Vecchio sent. Ray doesn't know (doesn't want to know) how much of it she actually understands, but she always flips the pages with a studious frown, her tiny pink tongue occasionally slipping out to run across her bottom lip.

In the kitchen, Fraser was just putting the clean salt shaker in the drying rack. Most of the mess had been tidied up, but Fraser's hair has a crusty patch that sticks up a little like Ray's own.

Ray reaches up to touch a not-gross bit of Fraser's hair. "Hey."

"Hey, yourself, Ray."

***

Ben is properly chastened as Ray walks out of the room, messy child in tow. He had, perhaps, underestimated the appeal of splattered foodstuffs. There are moments when he forgets just how young she is, how much time they have left to be parents.

Strange how close that word is to the way they began, the word that always meant the two of them against the world. Partners first, and now parents as well. Stranger still that he could transfer the old fears (where was the line between close and smothering, how could he keep his heart safe against someone so intent on binding him into something so hugely important, what would he do when it ended) so easily into his relationship with this thing he has reluctantly begun to consider his family. His life.

Ray brings him back to the present. "Hey."

"Hey, yourself, Ray." Ben braces for yet another lesson in early childhood development. Ray's been doing rather a lot of reading recently, most of it having to do with home schooling and how to raise a well-adjusted individual under isolated circumstances. As a result, he finds himself the recipient of a disturbing number of lectures about human behavior and the failings of his own upbringing.

From the look on Ray's face, he's about to hear more about the importance of discipline. This wasn't a lecture he'd considered possible when they met.

It's familiar now.

"You can't think of her as a tiny adult, Fraser. I know it's tempting, but you just can't. She's going to act like a kid, and you have to be ready for that. She's going to want to throw stuff, and yell, and make messes, and you have to be the grownup. You can't let her get away with everything."

"I understand that. I do. It's just--"

"You never got to make a mess, and it hurts. And you don't want her to hurt the same way."

Ben is once again surprised by Ray's ability to read his insecurities. There may be something to those psychology texts after all. "She's quite advanced for her age. I thought a simple warning would suffice."

"It didn't. And then you got wrapped up in making her laugh, and now I'm going to be the one telling her no next time. And the time after that." Ray sighs. "Never pegged you for the fun dad."

"I suppose not. I could go discuss it with her now, and make sure that you don't have to be 'the mean one.'"

"You could. Or you could let me welcome you home right. Your choice."

His relief at Ray's suggestion and salacious look is familiar. Ben is certain he should be more accustomed to family squabbles, to Ray challenging his behavior, to Ray being _correct_ in challenging his behavior. But a small part of him always wonders if this will be it, the long-dreaded break when Ray hits him again, or, worse, finally leaves. He knows this pattern of thought is misguided. Ray has explained both patiently and quite impatiently that he loves him, needs him, will not disappear from his life now or ever. Unfortunately, it's a lesson Ben finds difficult to remember and more difficult to fully believe.

He smiles. "I would prefer the second option, Ray."

"Yeah, I bet you would."

Ray moves closer, backing Ben against the counter, resting a hand on the countertop on either side of him, close enough so he can feel Ray's forearms tight against his hips. Ray's eyes are warm, the subtle fan of wrinkles at the edges adding to his rakish beauty.

"You have flour on your nose."

"Do I?" Ben's voice has a hitch that wasn't there a moment ago. He clears his throat and watches Ray watch him.

Ray leans in, breath hot on his face, and lightly licks the tip of his nose. It tickles.

"Better?" Ben asks.

"Better. But you've got flour on your cheek, too. Way back by your ear. How the hell did you do that?"

"I have no idea, Ray."

When Ray goes for the (surely exaggerated, if not imaginary) flour, Ben tilts his head, allowing him better access. Ray licks a slow, deliberate stripe on his cheekbone and leans his hips into Ben, the contact adding heat to the slow simmer between them. Staying still for a long moment, Ray breathes softly against Ben's ear, "Welcome home, Fraser."

Dief woofs a warning just before Ben hears the thud of a book hitting the floor and a whispered, "Oops."

Ray drops his head with a muttered curse. "I remember when we used to be able to have sex in every room of the house. Any time, any day. All day. All the sex we wanted with no interruptions. I think I miss that."

Ben gently pushes him back, shaking his head. "As do I. But there are benefits, as well."

Ray's grin is a promise, or maybe a warning. "And there's always bedtime. Come on, better get something to eat. You're going to need your strength. For later."

He turns away with a familiar bounce to his step, grabbing the baking sheet from the table and sliding it into the oven with clattering enthusiasm.

Ordering his overzealous libido to cooperate, Ben shakes his head and goes in search of ("You can't call her Sunshine, not even as a nickname, Ben. That's just weird. Think of something more appropriate to the way she's usually acting, if you have to use cutesy crap instead of a good name that we both agreed on. Because being half of "Ray and Sunshine" freaks me out.") trouble.

He finds it crawling under the couch and singing about…entomology? Although pulling off wings hardly seems a good use of the scientific method. Perhaps he'd better bring home some more appropriate musical selections, as Ray's habit of indiscriminately exposing an impressionable youngster to his own preferences may lead to difficulty at the annual Caribou Roast and Bonfire. Maybe they can compromise and find Hugh Dillon's rendition of "The Wheels on the Bus."

Dragging a newly dusty and sniffling child out into the light, he sighs and reaches for a handkerchief. "You know you're not supposed to be down there."

"I dropped something."

"I'd be happy to help you get it back. What are we looking for?" Her sudden angelic smile takes him by surprise. He's unnerved by a sense of foreboding. Still, there's no blood visible. How bad could it be?

"Daddy's eyes were broken. I fixed them, so now we can stay home and not go to town for new ones, because I don't want to go to town. I want to stay here and watch Thomas. But now I can't reach the rest of the pieces."

"Pieces?" Perhaps it's some sort of virus that's giving his voice that high pitch.

"See? All fixed." Ben finds himself holding (what's left of) Ray's glasses. Two lenses, two earpieces, and a single screw. The miniature screwdriver from his portable tool kit remains clutched in one small, sticky hand.

Ben calls out in what he hopes is a neutral voice. "Ray, what was the timeline for fine motor skills, again?"

An answering silence indicates that he was unsuccessful. Ray is not a stupid man, and these exchanges have become far too common in recent months. "What's she done this time?"

"Nothing much. As long as you're not planning to fire the rifle or drive the truck anytime in the near future."

Ben's certain that Ray's muttering consists mainly of inappropriate language for children, wolves, and members of the RCMP, and so he turns back to the more pressing matter of locating a very small screw in a very dark space.

***

Ray stalks out of the kitchen and into the dim outside. Dief slips through the door behind him, narrowly missing getting slammed.

"Sure, I don't need any glasses. I'll just be blind. I'll be the blind fucking isolated kept woman in the assbackwards beyond."

Dief is sitting, very alert, watching him. He snarls and he's pretty sure Dief laughs.

"It's fine, it's nothing. She's a kid and they do that. It's just my fucking glasses and there's no goddamn LensCrafters around here."

Dief is still watching, head cocked now.

"You shut up. You don't know anything about anything, furball."

Dief yawns, then reaches around and licks himself.

"Lucky dog. Fine, so I don't like the blue balls. And I like that she's brilliant, more brilliant than I'll ever be. It's just the evil part I'm not so cool with."

Ray does some of that deep breathing crap Fraser's always on about, cracks his neck twice, turns, and returns to the kitchen.

Something's weird. Fraser is sitting at the kitchen table, carefully reassembling Ray's glasses. The demon child is sitting on the chair next to him, hands folded in her lap.

"What's going on?"

Fraser straightens, gives the kidlet a meaningful look.

She mumbles, "I'm sorry, Daddy."

"Hey, Pumpkin." He squats down next to her chair. "It's all right. Did Dad give you a lecture?"

"Uh-huh."

"Well, then I think we're done with that. We're cool." He kisses the top of her head, then blows air into her hair, making her giggle.

He goes and crouches next to Fraser's chair next. Fraser leans over and whispers in his ear, "I was the mean one." When Fraser straightens back up he looks shy, eager, and proud all at once.

Him, Ray kisses on the mouth.


End file.
